A Flame's Caress
by Lord Blood
Summary: In a childhood accident, Harry learns that he can somehow manipulate the element of fire. Leaving his home burnt to the ground, Harry wanders away and finds himself living the life of a street urchin.
1. Chapter 1

A Flame's Caress

Summary: For some odd reason, fire seemed to fascinate Harry. It was warm, it was gentle, and it was hypnotizing...

Chapter 1

Fire. What a wonderful thing. It had many uses. It could keep you warm in days of cool weather, cook your food so that it tasted better, provide you light with which you could see, and it could be used as a weapon to warn away those bigger than you.

That's what the cavemen discovered all those years ago. Their small caves were no longer so cold, their food was edible, they could see at night, and they were protected from the animals that thought of them as dinner.

But now in modern times, fire was thought less of. It's fire. It's there. No one pays attention to it. No one worships it. Not unless it caused disasters did people become aware of its might. And this saddened it.

It would wait. Wait for its champion, for its wielder...

-

Two year old Harry Potter was left alone in the house while his family went out for a lavish dinner. His small stomach hungered for sustenance, and the pain of being unfed for so long left him hunting for food. He had seen his caretaker take things off of a big white box, place it in a container of some kind, and hand it to the fat one, who always seemed to enjoy shoveling it into his mouth.

So, little Harry thought that perhaps he could find something on the white box that he could eat.

Climbing onto a nearby wooden stool, he struggled with his weak legs to stand up and grab something that would satisfy his stomach.

His aunt, who had been boiling water only moments before leaving the house, had accidentally forgot to turn the stove off, so it continued to burn.

Harry thought nothing of this as his hand reached towards the pretty red-orange lights that seemed to flicker and dance. He laughed a bubbly laugh as he stared at the mesmerizing movements of the flame, completely forgetting about the roar in his small stomach.

Reaching a hand towards it, his only thought was to play with his new friend. A chubby index finger poked the flame, and he suddenly recoiled in shock at the pain he experienced. His unstable legs collapsed from under him, causing him to fall backwards off of the stool. His finger, black from its burn, was immediately shoved into his mouth to suck on, hoping that the horrible pain would just go away.

At the moment that his finger had touched the flame, something penetrated his food-obsessed mind. It was a voice; a voice of a lady. It was soft, cultured, elegant...Its soothing tones washed away the pain in little Harry's blackened finger, and his sniffles stopped. Unfortunately, the pleasant voice seemed to fade as suddenly as it came.

It whispered three last words; words that would stay buried deep in Harry's subconscious for years to come. "My little champion..."

-

Six years later, little Harry was bigger-but-still-little Harry. That day where he had burned his finger had totally slipped from his mind, and his thoughts these days were only consisted of avoiding Dudley and his gang, doing the chores for his family, and cooking food to the best of his ability so that he could earn a small portion of what he had made. Oh, that and sleeping in his cupboard.

His dreams consisted of hearing that pleasant and warm voice, saying the same three words again and again. It was the same dream, playing again and again every single night. Even though he could remember hearing the words being spoken, when he awoke, the words quickly faded from his mind, leaving his frustrated and confused.

It was due to these feelings of frustration and confusion that he had absently hit something with his foot while running around the kitchen, avoiding his cousin Dudley's massive fists. Dudley, who had started chasing Harry only because he refused to cook him a second lunch, slammed his fist into Harry's cheek, sending the smaller boy flying into the stove.

Harry let out a groan of pain and raised a hand to his tender cheek.

"I'm going out now to play with Piers. When I get back, there better be something on the table for me to eat, or else..." he attempted to threaten menacingly, shaking his pudgy fists at his black-haired cousin.

It was unlucky for poor Harry that his uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia were both out of the house at the moment, or else they would've scolded Dudley for attempting to try to sneak another meal (but not for hitting Harry).

So, Harry picked himself up gingerly, and placed his hand on the oven, pushing himself up. The force of Dudley's punch had knocked Harry's brain around in his head a little, so getting up and staying up proved to be a little difficult.

Taking a few minutes to get his breath back, Harry then walked to the cabinets, where he used a small wooden stool to step up and grab a pan. Stepping off carefully, he placed the pan on the stove and went to the refrigerator, getting a few eggs out. Harry placed the eggs to the side and went to the pantry, where he pulled out a bottle of oil to grease the pan with.

He was cooking the eggs for Dudley when the aforementioned boy pushed Harry.

"You took too long! Now, your face is going to suffer like my stomach!"

However, since Harry was cooking in front of a lit stove when he was pushed, he bent forward over the _lit stove_, dropping the pan and setting fire to his sleeve at the same time. Frightened, Harry waved his arm frantically. This did nothing except spread the fire, as the curtains hanging on the window near the stove then caught the fire, too.

Within a few seconds, the fire had spread from the curtains to the various rolls of paper towels near the sink, and from there it spread to the small rug in front of the sink.

Dudley immediately bolted out the door, screaming about a fire.

Harry did the opposite, instead curiously gazing at the fire that spread to his arm. The flames licked his arm, but he felt no pain, nor did he see any blackened skin that should've resulted from such a situation.

A familiar voice seemed to echo in his mind.

"Who was that?" he asked, curious. He spun around, trying to locate the source of the voice, but found nothing.

A thought suddenly popped in his head. "Run? Run...away from home? Why would I do that?"

A low murmur sounded, focusing Harry's attention of the source instead of the stray thought.

His attention was then forced back to the stray thought when a second joined it. "Run because this is a bad place? Well yes, that's true...but..." he trailed off, ignorant of the fact that the flames were now consuming the entire kitchen and spreading into the nearby living room.

A third thought joined the other two. "I could do better on the streets by myself? Really? I...I don't think so..."

Another. "O...ok."

His eyes then looked down at his forearm, which was completely covered in the orange flames. "But what do I do about this?"

A fifth thought. "Ignore it? But...won't people notice it?"

The murmur, consistent with the thoughts, seemed to sigh, before another thought popped into Harry's head.

"Will it? I have to...will it away?" A look of constipation crossed Harry's face, before the flames encompassing his arm seemed to die down. He raised his arm to eye-level and stared at it in fascination. "Cool!" he breathed. Suddenly, his head snapped up. "Right, I better get out of here."

Hurrying to his burning cupboard, he pulled out his only blanket and left out the back door.

-

The blaring sounds of the firefighters sounded through the neighborhood, attracting the gossiping neighbors to the burnt down house of 4 Privet Drive.

"A fire..."

"...terrible."

"The...boy...in there."

"...screaming."

Whispers were shared among the shocked onlookers, and soon, rumors started to arise that the Dursleys' nephew was still in there before the house had completely burned down. The rumors then evolved, saying that the Dursleys' were "punishing" their nephew again when it got out of control and they accidentally burned him, before leaving the house to avoid being caught. More and more rumors started to spread, and soon, a whole crowd had assembled around the firefighters that were attempting to search for bodies and the policemen that were attempting to keep the crowd under control.

Off to the side, two pops signaled the arrival of an old man with a beard that reached the floor, and a stern-looking woman with a pointed hat.

The two, ignored by everyone else, whispered gravely to each other.

"What happened here, Albus?"

"I'm not sure, Minerva. All I know is that there was a fire, and the wards around the house fell the moment the house collapsed. They told me nothing of whether or not Harry died in the fire or managed to escape..." he trailed off uncertainly.

"I told you it was a bad idea to leave them with those monstrous Muggles!" Minerva sniffed, dabbing her eyes with a magically produced handkerchief.

"Now, now, Minerva, we have no proof that this was the Dursleys' fault. It could've been an accident, for all we know!"

"Not likely! I overheard some of those people over there talking about how it was more likely that they tried to kill the boy then it being an accident, Albus!"

"In any case, Minerva, we can do nothing now."

"What?! Why not?!" Minerva screeched.

"If we call the Aurors and Obliviators in, it will undoubtedly spread that this was once the living place of the heir to the Potter family, and that would not only put Harry's family in danger, but he himself if he _is _alive, since there are many families in the Wizengamot that would never stand for having a pureblood child live with muggles. I will check back again in a week, and if he has not been found by then, then we will have no choice but to announce his death," Albus concluded grimly.

-

Young Harry found himself in London after the debacle at his uncle and aunt's place. He had tried to recall that soothing voice, but nothing came to him. With no success, he first thing he thought to do was find a place to sleep. With him being a runaway orphan with no money, the best place he could find was a cozy-looking alley. Ignoring the smell, he wandered into the alley and found a large cardboard box. Using his small hands, he ripped the box apart and made walls, symbolizing a form of defense against the weather and any curious onlookers.

Satisfied that his little home was secure, he wandered out, looking for something to fill his stomach. Near the entrance of the alley, a garbage can contained a loaf of bread that was barely eaten. Ignoring the fact that it was in the garbage, he quickly snatched it and scuttled back to his new home. Ripping into it, he could feel the urge in his stomach fading.

When the bread was all gone, he went back to staring at his arm. The memory of the fire encasing his arm was on the forefront of his mind.

'_How do I get it to come back? Do I...will it?_'

Nothing seemed to respond to his mental question, so he shrugged and tried it anyway. His eyes narrowed, and his focus on his arm increased. However, nothing happened.

Sighing in frustration, Harry let his head fall back, banging the back of the cardboard box. His mind wandered, trying to come up with anything that he could do to make the fire come back, but nothing came.

-

A week passed by, and Harry was getting used to his new life living by himself in an alley. By now, he learned that trash was dumped into the garbage can every night at seven sharp. With a steady, if sparse, source of food, Harry found himself wandering the city more often.

During one of his escapades, he had met another refuge living in an alley several blocks away from his. The man, catching him trying rifling through _his _trash, took pity on the fresh runaway and taught him the art of pickpocketing. It only took Harry two demonstrations to get what he had to do, so Harry thanked the man profusely and ran off, anxious to try it out. Perhaps he could amass enough money to buy himself a house one day! Alas, it was just a dream, but a child's dream nonetheless.

His first target, a tall businessman wearing a black suit, had pockets that jingled every step he took.

Harry quickly approached the man, head down, and purposely walked into him. His hand snaked into the man's pocket and he grabbed the first thing he could, before walking off, not looking back at the man.

Returning to his home, Harry opened his hand and looked down at the odd metallic box he had in his hand. It took him a while, but he eventually realized it was a lighter! He had seen his uncle use one to create a fire and light some kind of stick up and stick it in his mouth. The black-haired boy was about to throw away the useless trinket before he suddenly wondered if he could get the fire to come back with the help of this lighter. Struggling with it for a minute, he eventually managed to flick it open and light it. The flame spouted up, and he felt himself being mesmerized by it.

His finger reached forward to touch it, but he pulled away. Taking a deep breath, he tried to get himself in some kind of meditative state, trying to will the flame onto his finger and eventually his entire arm.

A minute passed.

Two minutes passed.

Three minutes passed.

Nothing happened.

Growling in frustration, Harry flicked the lighter closed.

'_I'll try it again later,_' he swore to himself. But for now, he wanted to try and practice his pickpocketing again...

-

In his alley the next morning, Harry could be found staring into the fire of his lighter again. He had tried all through the night to will the fire over his arm, but it was all for naught.

Determined, Harry continued to try.

The first sign of success came sometime before noon. The flame flickered for a moment, and tendrils of heat seemed to reach towards Harry's arm. With a yelp of surprise, he dropped the lighter onto the ground, preventing the tendrils from touching him. Cursing his bad luck, the young boy picked it up and tried again.

The fire flickered again, and slowly, the flame encompassed his index finger. Struggling to increase the area it covered, Harry groaned again when it suddenly disappeared. It seemed that he didn't have enough power or concentration to make it cover his entire arm yet.

That small amount of work spent a lot of his energy, and he could feel the lack of energy making him extremely tired. With a mental promise to continue later, he soon drifted off to dreams of a warm and gentle caress.

-

_Daily Prophet_

_by Rita Skeeter_

_It has recently been uncovered that Harry Potter, the heir to the Potter family, died less than a week ago! Through intensive research and interviews, this reporter found that Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts and Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot tried to hide this fact beneath a multitude of lies and deception!_

_The circumstances of Harry Potter's death is still relatively unknown, but from what this reporter has found, muggle authority figures arrived at the boys home in Surrey and learned that Mr. Potter, a child of only eight years, was supposed to be inside the dwelling when it burned down in what seems to be an "accident"!_

_Not only that, neighbors of the muggles who took care of Mr. Potter (yes, muggles were the caretakers of Harry Potter!) were gossiping about how the Dursleys (the caretakers) probably beat poor Harry to death and started a fire to cover the evidence! A little more undercover work, and I learned that this wasn't just a one-time occurrence. This was a habitual thing!_

_This saddened reporter wonders how such a man like Albus Dumbledore could possibly place the heir to such a valiant pureblood family in such a horrible home. Is it perhaps that old age is getting to him?_

_Something must be done!_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_Three Years Later_

'_Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?_'

The black haired boy snorted.

"Witchcraft and Wizardry? Sounds interesting," he murmured to himself. "Eh, it can't hurt to check it out."

Pushing himself off the wall, he flippantly stepped over the moaning man on the ground, who had various burn marks all over his arms and torso.

Turning back around, the boy told the man, "Touch my stuff again, and what I did today will be nothing compared to what I will do to you next time."

-

Harry was walking down Charing Cross Road, thinking about the letter he had received on his eleventh birthday, when suddenly, a grubby looking pub appeared between a book shop and a record shop.

He did a double take, and stared at it for five seconds before shaking his head. The directions to find the Leaky Cauldron had been much more difficult on the invitation.

Stepping in, he immediately noted that the entire place was dark and shabby, looking like it hadn't been renovated since the time it was built.

Approaching the man washing mugs with a rag, he asked the man if he could show him the way to Diagon Alley. The silly letter hadn't mentioned anything beyond getting to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Follow me," the bartender grunted as he headed out back.

When the eleven year old exited out the back door, all he saw was a dead end.

He was about to say something about the man's sanity when he pulled out a short stick and tapped a series of bricks.

Following that, the bartender put his stick back in his pocket and motioned the black-haired youth through.

Astonished, Harry numbly walked through the barrier and let the sights dazzle him, not even noticing that the wall behind him had reappeared.

"Whoa..."

And it was surely a most splendid sight for someone who was unfamiliar with magic.

Tons of people milled around, the majority wearing funny looking pointy hats and odd robes. Many were also carrying the same kind of stick that the bartender had, leading Harry to assume it was a wand.

He entered the first shop he saw, which happened to sell cauldrons made of all kinds of metals.

"Cauldrons?" he said to himself skeptically, "They actually use cauldrons? Hah!"

"Why, hello there!" a voice greeted. "You a muggle-born then?"

Turning around, Harry saw the clerk standing behind him.

"Muggle-born?"

"Well, that answers that question. A muggle is what we call people without magic. Muggle-borns are wizards with muggle parents," the clerk told him.

"Yeah, I guess I'm a muggle-born."

"I assume you don't have any wizarding money, so you'd best head over to the bank. Once you have your money, you'll want to buy the stuff that's listed on your Hogwarts invitation."

Harry nodded and started to leave before the clerk called him back. "Oh, watch out for Knockturn Alley. It's not exactly a pleasant place, and it's definitely not somewhere a child should go."

The eleven-year old nodded and left.

-

Upon leaving the cauldron store, he walked down the alley and quickly found the bank. It was an extraordinary building, made entirely of white marble and populated with a large number of these short, green creatures.

Walking up to one of the tellers, Harry asked, "Excuse me, but do you exchange pounds for whatever currency wizards use?"

Not even looking up from its work, the green-skinned goblin replied, "5 pounds to a galleon."

Fishing out all of the money he had saved up, he handed the wad of bills to the goblin, who snatched it out of the boy's hands, his head still buried in his work. The goblin's eyes shifted from the paperwork to the money, and his fingers quickly paged through it.

"500 pounds. That's 100 galleons," the goblin stated, moving his hands towards Harry when he finally looked up. The hand stopped, and the goblin's eyebrow was raised in recognition. "A drop of blood, please." Grabbing the black-haired boy's hand and pricking it with a knife, the goblin carefully scooped up the blood and deposited it on a blank sheet of paper that he had quickly retrieved from under his counter. "Follow me," the goblin said. Reaching under his desk again, he pulled out a "CLOSED" sign and placed it on the desk before moving off, beckoning Harry to follow.

Moving into a back room, the goblin motioned for Harry to sit. "Please wait for a moment while I get the director."

When the goblin came back, he was followed by an even shorter goblin with a long gray beard.

"Mr. Potter," the goblin stated. "I am Ragnok, director of Gringotts bank. Do you know why you've been brought here?"

Harry shook his head.

"Your parents' will was never properly enacted, and when we tried to locate and contact you, we couldn't find a thing."

"I ran away from home three years ago."

The goblin shook its head. "No, we've been searching from the moment your parents died. Their will left a lot of money in your hands, and the Potter vault is not exactly some small thing."

"Wait a second. My parents were wizards?"

"Well, your mother was a witch, but yes, they were essentially magical."

Harry cursed mentally. He remembered that his Aunt Petunia had always told him that his parents were no good drunks that died in a car crash.

"So," Harry asked, "about their will...Can I hear it now?"

Ragnok pulled a large scroll from a pile on his desk and gently unraveled it.

"_The will of James and Lily Potter:_

_We leave everything we have in our name to our only son, Harry James Potter. Know that we will always love you.  
_

Well, that's it," Ragnok ended. "Yes, it was quite short. I suppose they were low on time and had to be somewhere," the elderly goblin mused. "Would you like to go see your things now? I can't let you access anything in the family vault, as you are not of age yet, but you can certainly access your trust fund, which should have provided you enough to last all seven years of Hogwarts and then some."

"What's the age of majority?"

"Seventeen. We'll give you a notice on that day with a portkey so you can come here immediately."

"Portkey?"

"A form of magical transportation. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Yes. I need a place to live. Do you think there's enough money in my trust fund to rent an apartment somewhere?"

"I'm afraid not. However, if you are truly in need of lodging, i can perhaps procure for you one of those specialized trunks that include a bed. Since you are a valued customer, we'll buy it for you on a loan. In return, you will pay us on your age of majority, along with a little interest."

"A trunk with a bed?" Harry repeated slowly.

"Yes."

"Are there any other specialized things that I can add to my trunk?"

"You can add a weightless charm or shrinking charm - the first makes the trunk weight nothing, the second allows you to shrink and expand your trunk to a certain size, making for easier transport - as well as extra rooms besides the bedroom, such as a bathroom, library, and potions lab. Of course, the normal compartments will obviously be included, although they are charmed to hold up to one hundred times more items than without the charm. All of these are popular additions to a trunk."

"I'll take all of those additions, assuming that my family vault can afford it."

"You need not worry about your family vault. With that much money inside, the money spent on this trunk isn't enough to even dent your holdings," the goblin stated.

"And what about the other additions?"

"There's a charm that designates the trunk to one owner, so that no one but the owner can open it," Ragnok offered. "It's a great addition for someone who values their privacy."

"I'll take that too. Can I get the trunk now?"

With a snap of his fingers, Ragnok summoned another goblin and spoke to it in a foreign language.

A minute later, a pop sounded, and a trunk appeared on the floor next to Harry.

"To activate the single owner designation, spill some of your blood on the handle. To shrink or enlarge your trunk, you need only tap it with your wand. Have a nice day."

-

With his new trunk and a pile of money in tow, Harry entered Ollivander's with the intention of getting his wand. At first, he thought that the man didn't have a wand for him, seeing him shove wand after wand into the eleven year old's hand, only to snatch it away mere moments later. By the end of the second hour, the odd man went deep into his store, returning five minutes later with a box covered in dust.

"Perhaps this will be the one, hmm?" Ollivander asked happily. "My, I've never had such fun trying to find match a wand with its wizard."

When Harry picked up the wand inside the dust-covered box, he knew right away it was _his _wand.

"Oh my," Ollivander stated. "So this wand has finally found its owner..."

-

After getting his wand, a rejuvenated Harry left the store and walked back towards the Leaky Cauldron, only to stop in front of the apothecary. Seeing as how potions ingredients were a large part of his school supplies, he went in.

An hour later, he left a good number of galleons lighter. He had spent the entire time exploring the place, fascinated by the various magical ingredients. Not only did he buy the standard ingredients required by the school, but a large number of other ingredients that the store clerk had told him were essential for your basic everyday potions.

His next stop was a place for wizarding robes.

Standing outside Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, he took a deep breath before entering. This would be the first time he ever went shopping for clothes. Living on the streets meant that you had to live with what you had. There wasn't a such thing as throwing away dirty clothes...that is, unless you "borrowed" someone else's clothing.

When he entered, the bell above the door rang, causing Harry to jump back and snap his neck up towards the sound. Seeing the source of the ringing, Harry looked around furtively to check to see if anyone had spotted his embarrassing little mishap. Thankfully, everyone was preoccupied with their own business.

Walking in again, the bell rang a second time, finally attracting the attention of a blond boy standing on a stool, who had been looking into the mirror before the bell had rang.

The matron of the store came back into view, taking measurements of the blond before taking a glance at the newcomer.

"Karen will take care of you, dearie. Karen! Customer!" Madam Malkin shouted towards the back room.

A sullen voice shouted, "Alright, alright!" before the owner of the aforementioned voice appeared.

Walking up to Harry, Karen led him towards a section of robes.

"It's robes you need, right kid?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Alright, let's do this," she replied with a sigh. Forcing him to stand still, she measured Harry with her own tape measure, leaving him for only a brief moment before coming back with bundles of new robes.

"Here, try these on. Pick one you like, and tell me when you want to purchase it," she shoved the clothes into his hands and returned to the back room.

Going up to the mirror, he ignored the blond's gaze and did his best to wear the awkward-looking robes that wizards seemed to favor.

"Muggleborn, are you?" the blond asked snidely.

"No."

"Tell me your name then."

"Harry."

"Your last name, you dunce!"

"Nunya."

"Nunya? What kind of silly name is that?"

"Nunya business."

"Oh, har har, you're a funny guy," Malfoy stated. He took a step forward, finger aimed at Harry. "I am a Malfoy! And Malfoys are to be respected!"

"Draco, what have I said about your behavior in public?" came another voice from behind the two.

Both spun around.

"Father! This ruffian dares mock the Malfoy name!" the younger blond exclaimed.

Lucius turned his eyes towards the target of his son's ire and took a moment to examine the boy.

"The Potter boy?" he half stated and half asked with a raised eyebrow.

Instantly, Harry's stance became guarded. "Yeah, what's it to you?"

Ignored by both his father and the scruffy-looking boy, the youngest Malfoy asked in disbelief, "Potter?!"

'_The Potter heir! Unbelievable, to think that I'd find him here. Perhaps...yes..._' the older blond thought to himself.

"Do you mind my asking where you've been the past 10 years? I remember the week you disappeared, your name was posted all over the newspaper, right alongside another."

"With my muggle relatives," Harry replied curtly.

'_Muggles?! The heir to a family as old as the Potters, living with muggles?_' Lucius thought in outrage.

"And do you enjoy it there...living with _muggles_," he hissed the last word in poorly-hidden disgust.

"And what business is that of yours to be asking about my personal business?" Harry asked in return.

Harry's reply was as good as a resounding 'NO' to the experienced ears of Lucius Malfoy.

"Forget I asked. Hurry and purchase your new robes, Draco. We have things to finish."

"Yes Father," Draco Malfoy said obediently.

After they left, Harry quickly followed suit, purchasing the new robes and tossing them inside one of the compartments of his new trunk.

He left Diagon Alley then, and went to the first clothing store in muggle London he could find, where he planned on getting a normal wardrobe. While rags were fine when he was living on the streets, they were definitely inappropriate while staying at a renowned school. With all these new purchases, he found the pile of money that he withdrawn from his trust vault to have dwindled to a very small amount.

Finally done for the day, he returned to "his" alley. He placed the trunk down on the ground and collected the few precious items that he had managed to gather over the past few years from his hiding spot. This included a small dagger, a large sum of money that he collected through pickpocketing, a 9mm Glock with several clips, a cell phone, which he had purchased, a dozen lighters, a ton of matchboxes, and his blanket. He then placed all of his precious items in the other standard compartment that wasn't currently full of his new clothes, locking it so that it would only activate on his command.

By this time, it was getting dark.

With deft fingers quickly opening the hatch of his trunk, the compartment with the bed was revealed, and Harry tentatively climbed down. What he saw when he arrived at the bottom of the ladder astounded him. It was a spacious room, containing a queen size bed and a beautiful desk to the side. Next to the bed was a small dresser. The room could be considered spartan, but for Harry, who had lived in a small cupboard for the first eight years of his life, and on the streets the next three, this was considered a luxury.

"Home sweet home..."

-

Edited on September 13, 2009

I realized that a lot of the things Harry said and did did not fit in with the personality of someone who's lived on the streets for 3 years. I practically made him canon!Harry before the edit. Now, it's more anti-social behavior, something that would be expected of someone with Harry's history.

Not to mention, another reason I had to edit this chapter was because I forgot to get Harry his WAND! It should be one of the first things any new wizard should get, am I right? And to think, no one reminded me of it.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next day, feeling refreshed from sleeping in an actual bed for the first time in many months, the young boy returned to Diagon Alley to finish purchasing the rest of his school supplies. Yesterday's shopping spree had only included his wand, potions supplies, and both muggle and wizarding clothes.

With Tom's help in opening the barrier, Harry quickly found himself back at the bank, withdrawing an even bigger amount of money (in both pounds and galleons) from his vault.

Minutes later, inside the pet store, Harry had discovered the various mythical and non-mythical creatures inside. Owls, rats, lizards, cats, and snakes of all kinds were inside cages scattered everywhere. He immediately headed towards the section of magical birds. He spent quite some time there, but just couldn't find the "right" bird for him. He was thinking about just randomly picking a bird when he noticed the post office a little bit down the street. From his vantage point near the window, he could see several owls flying around the building.

Deciding to just use the owls there, he quickly left the birds area. On his way to the door, he bypassed a whole row full of snakes.

'_I'm so hungry. Is it time to eat yet?_'

Having discovered his odd talent for speaking to snakes long ago, he was, by now, used to hearing a snake's hissing. However, the normal snakes he had found had always hissed only words, never complete sentences. Add to that the fact that the snakes here could be magical, and his curiosity was peaked.

He took three steps forward before arriving in front of the snake that spoke.

'_Hmmm...he's not the Feeder...feh, silly humans. They all look alike._'

Slipping into the ancient language of Parseltongue, '_At least I'm not the one stuck inside a small cage._'

The snake's eyes, which had started to look away in disinterest, snapped back to Harry.

'_A Speaker? I never thought I'd ever meet one! What are the odds of this happening?_'

Footsteps alerted Harry to the presence of another person. Looking up, he saw the store's clerk.

"Can I help you?" the older man asked. "Are you interested in buying that snake?"

Harry couldn't help but notice the excitement in the man's voice.

'_Tell him you aren't going to buy me!_' the snake's voice suddenly hissed. '_Or I'll sink my fangs into you the moment I'm out of this cage,_' it added as an afterthought.

Harry, who had been about to say yes, stopped at the last moment and replied with a resounding "No."

The clerk, disappointment evident in his stature, mumbled, "Well, if you need help, I'll be up at the front," and returned to his counter.

The black-haired boy turned to the snake.

'_Why would you want to stay in a cage so small?_' he wondered.

'_It's an easy life. I get free food, I don't have to worry about predators...I admit, my home could be a little bigger, but I like it here._'

Harry nodded and waved goodbye, turning to leave before the snake spoke once more.

'_You're interested in a snake familiar, I see, no? There are rumors of a basilisk, the deadliest magical snake in the world, living within the school_ _Hogwarts_. _With your skill in Parseltongue, you may be able to convince him to be your familiar, if you truly wish._'

'_A basilisk, huh? Thanks for the information. Have a good life._'

As he left, he could hear the faint chuckles of the snake.

'_Oh I will, Speaker, I will._'

-

With his acceptance letter sent via owl, Harry ventured off to find something to eat.

Having lived the last three years of his life on the streets, Harry was accustomed to eating very little and living in dirty places that most would never dare to even visit. Discovering a large sum of money bequeathed to him from his supposedly alcoholic parents, Harry had no idea what to do with such wealth. It had taken him some time the previous day to get used to the fact that he could now buy everything he needed, plus things that he didn't! Yet with this realization, the boy had no time to use his newly acquired fortune on anything frivolous, not even the books necessary for his education. With that thought in mind, he planned the rest of the day to thoroughly search Diagon Alley. It's not like had anywhere else to go anyway.

Spotting Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, the eleven year old boy endeavored to try some of the ice cream here. Perhaps it was _magic _ice cream?

He had only just sat down with a large chocolate ice cream cone (there was surprisingly no magical ice cream flavors, which he found quite odd), when a large commotion suddenly broke out down the street. With his ice cream in hand, he got up from his seat and stood on the tips of his toes, trying to spot what was going on. With all of the adult wizards and witches crowding up ahead, he had difficulty accomplishing this.

Finally, the center of the crowd's attention pushed through the throng of people, revealing what seemed to be a normal magical family. This was certainly disproved by the arrogant smirk on the father and son's faces and the gathering of people shouting for autographs.

Watching them strut by, Harry was curious about who they were, but decided not to ask. After all, he couldn't care less about celebrities. They were all a bunch of stuck up divas.

Quickly finishing the rest of his ice cream cone, he wiped his hands on a napkin and threw it in a nearby garbage can.

With his stomach satisfied, he wandered over to the bookstore, dead set on using his money to acquire some books that may better explain the many new aspects of the Wizarding World. Not to mention, he had yet to purchase his school books.

Acknowledging the clerk's offer of help by handing over his supply list, Harry soon wandered off among the aisles of books while the lady went to gather the things he required. Going from one end of the aisle to the other, he grabbed all kinds of interesting books: the history of magic and how it came to be (or so philosophers believe), an extensive book on Hogwart's history, a massive bestiary detailing all discovered magical races, a thick tome of basic spells, and a detailed book of all pureblood families,their family trees, and their history. It was the latter two books that he found most interesting.

Seeing as how he was raised a muggle, magic was still an extraordinary thing to him. Things like flying on a broom or turning a quill into a teacup gave him a sense of wonder, while to normal purebloods, this was a thing of daily occurrence. The tome of basic spells like Scourgify would help him get accustomed to seeing magic at work. Not knowing much about his parents, the book of pureblood families and their histories could perhaps shed light of the identity of any obscure relatives he may have.

When he still lived with the Dursleys, he had found books to be his only solace from the loneliness of living at 4 Privet Drive. Over time, that love had died down. Being here in a bookstore in Diagon Alley, he found his love for them return, even if only slightly.

"Excuse me, I have your books," the clerk called out.

"Ring up my purchases, I'll be right there." He gathered all of the books into his hands and carefully made his way up to the counter.

As the clerk added up the price of the extra books not on the curriculum, Harry took one last look around the store. There were so many books in here, and he was sure that there were things that he would want to read.

"That'll be 172 galleons," the clerk said pensively. "Are you sure you can afford it?"

The Potter heir reached into the pouch the goblins had given him and started to count out the 172 galleons.

"Ummm...you know you can just state how much money you wish to withdraw, right?" the clerk asked.

A look of annoyance crossed over his face before it disappeared, only to be replaced by a look of sheepish embarrassment.

-

After getting his books and storing them inside the library compartment of his trunk, he headed over back to Florean Fortescue's again. With another chocolate ice cream cone in hand, Harry flipped through the pages of his _Hogwarts, a History _book. He was halfway through the fourth chapter detailing the wonders of Hogwart's magnificent ceiling when he decided to take a break. Looking up from the thick book, his gaze happened to fall upon an alley that he hadn't noticed before. The place was dark and shady, and he could see the outlines of various figures.

Gathering his things and putting them away in the trunk, he decided to explore this new place.

He entered the alley with a knife hidden in the sleeves of his new robes (despite the fact that they were extremely uncomfortable). Life on the streets where only the strong survive ingrained a healthy dose of caution in him, especially in places as creepy looking as this.

Harry could just make out a sign hidden in the shadows of the dark alley. It read Knockturn Alley. Didn't he get a warning from that clerk in the cauldron shop about this place?

Carefully keeping his eyes peeled for trouble, Harry managed to avoid confronting any shady individuals who might have been looking to make a quick buck. He eventually entered a store hidden deep within the alley.

An old crone, who had been sitting in a just-as-old rocking chair, leapt up as the Potter scion entered.

"Welcome, welcome, it has been long since I've seen a customer as young as you, sir," she croaked. "Come, come," she beckoned. "My store offers many delights, for smart or stupid, young or old, good or evil!" the crone cackled madly.

She spun around twice on her feet before bending over a crystal ball that laid atop her counter. "Come, come," she beckoned again. "Place your hand here, sonny!"

Harry reluctantly did as she said, placing the palm of his right hand onto the crystal ball.

"Hmm..." the old woman said to herself as she peered into the ball's depths. "Aha! I know exactly what you need! Wand please!" She snatched the wand away from him before he could even blink and held it up to the dim lights. "Thirteen and a half inches, made of..." the delirious old crone trailed off."Oh dear. This will certainly prove interesting," she muttered to herself before cackling again.

With the wand in between her index and middle finger she swung it around her head and slapped it against the counter, creating a loud smack. "Here you go, Mr. Potter. Your wand will no longer and can no longer be tracked by the ministry. You are free to practice your magic anywhere you go. Have a nice day!" As she finished explaining, she started to push the eleven year old out of her shop.

Harry was almost to the door when he craned his head back and looked at the woman pushing her. "Wait, don't I need to pay you?"

"No, no! It's free of charge! Now you must be going! I'm sure you have better things to do than hang around with little, ol' me." With a final shove, Harry was sent stumbling outside of the shop. He tripped over the uneven cobbled ground and fell to his knees. Grunting, he pushed himself upright and turned around to see the store...

...Only to find it gone.

His head whipped to the left and to the right. The store was no longer there!

Magic! He'd never understand it.

-

She watched the last Potter look frantically for her store. From his expression alone, she could tell he was in disbelief. Finally, he stopped bothering and just left.

Her eyes were glued to his back, staring carefully and curiously as he wandered back to Diagon Alley.

"Your destiny awaits you," the old crone said softly. As she spoke, her hideous and deformed figure started to change. Her humped back straightened, her crooked nose realigned itself, her crazy gray hair curled itself up and lightened to a blond color, and her dark eyes changed to a light blue.

Mortals. She knew she wasn't supposed to meddle in their affairs, but there were some instances when a nudge from the hand of Fate was required.

-

With his odd venture into the dark place known as Knockturn Alley over, Harry had finally decided to call it a night. He headed towards the Leaky Cauldron, the hub between the Magical and the Muggle world, seeking to cross over back to _his _world, the one that he was familiar with.

He only just passed by the bar when he heard a man speaking to the bartender Tom.

"A room for one please," the drunk man managed to say without a slur.

Tom sighed. "Here's your key. Try not to puke all over the floor again, eh Rosewood?"

Rosewood grunted once before stumbling off behind the bar towards the stairs.

"Can I help you?" Tom suddenly asked, having spotted Harry.

"Yeah...How much for a room?"

"One sickle. For four extra knuts, you'll get a nice, warm breakfast tomorrow morning when you wake up."

"Here," Harry stated, handing over the sickle and knuts.

"Thank you very much sir. Here's your key. It's the third door on the left upstairs," Tom pointed over his shoulder to the stairs that Rosewood had used just a minute earlier. "Have a nice night."

The young, black-haired boy marched up the stairs and found his room. It wasn't as big as the room in his trunk, but it was in a public place, where he didn't have to worry about getting his "room" stolen or broken.

He set his trunk on the floor and pulled out the book on Hogwart's history again. With a sigh, he collapsed onto his bed and slowly began to read. It wasn't long before his tired mind decided that it was time to sleep.

-

Edited on August 17, 2009

I realized that a lot of the things Harry said and did did not fit in with the personality of someone who's lived on the streets for 3 years. I practically made him canon!Harry before the edit. Now, it's more anti-social behavior, something that would be expected of someone with Harry's history. In this chapter, I've thrown out very small clues in Harry's mannerisms that hint towards which side he might lean towards (light, dark, or dark-but-good)


End file.
